


The Memory of All That

by SarahJeanne



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahJeanne/pseuds/SarahJeanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad's last day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Memory of All That

Brad is leaning against the rail of the front porch, hunched over and still, when Nate slips out the front door to join him. He stands next to, but a step behind, Brad.

"You're out of uniform, Marine," Nate says, his voice breaking into the silence.

Brad turns to Nate. Nate's clutching Brad's utility cover. Nate shivers, sweatpants not making up for his bare feet and t-shirt against the early morning chill.

"Doesn't matter much, at this point."

Nate gives him a scolding, but playful, look. "The grooming standard always matters, Master Sergeant."

Brad's lips twitch at that. He pulls his cover out of Nate's hands and sticks it on his head. "Happy?"

"Yes." Nate shivers again and starts shifting his weight from foot to foot in an effort to warm up. Brad rolls his eyes and drags Nate in against his chest. "Even happier," he mumbles into Brad's neck.

"Your nose is freezing."

Nate pulls his head back. "Sorry." He waits a beat and then asks, "Are you?"

"Am I sorry?"

"Are you happy?"

Brad pulls away and goes back to the railing, sighing Nate's name as he does. Nate knows what he means; he's already made Brad talk this to death.

"Come inside. I made coffee and toast."

"Don't want to be late on my last day." Brad's tone is carefully even.

Nate glares at Brad's back for a moment as Brad does his best to keep himself hidden from him. "You know you have time," he says, when he knows his tone will be soft.

Brad let's his head drop. "Yeah, I know." Brad turns and takes a step forward. Nate moves to the side, holding the door open for him. As he steps through the door, Brad's hand automatically goes up and pulls off his cover. He puts it in its place on the table by the door, next to the bowl with the keys and in front of the holder for the mail. Nate follows him into the kitchen.

Brad brings his mug to his lips several times while Nate eats all the toast. But when Brad disappears into the bathroom and Nate cleans up, the mug is completely full.

Brad's men know him well, so they called Nate weeks ago to enlist him to make sure Brad appears at his own paddle party. Nate's starting to realize he may have to work harder than he originally thought. He's been placing bets with himself on what Brad's going to do with the actual paddle. There are several spots Brad might want to hang it up, but it's even money that he hides it in a closet for a few months first. That's what Nate did.

The sound of Brad rummaging for his keys pulls Nate out of the kitchen. He slides one hand around the back of Brad's neck and pulls him in so their foreheads are resting together. "I'll see you later, okay." He looks Brad in the eye and then kisses him briefly, willing Brad to understand everything he doesn't want to say out loud. _It will be okay_ and _There's life after the Corps_ and _There's a place for you in this world outside the service._

"Okay," Brad says, leaning in to kiss Nate one more time, before he grabs his cover back off the table and walks out the door.

Nate hears his car start and back out of the driveway, but he doesn't watch it go. Instead, he leans against the back of the couch and stares at the empty spot on the table. He tries to imagine a world where that empty spot on a Saturday afternoon, or a Tuesday evening, doesn't mean Brad's God-knows-where, Afghanistan or Iraq or a ship fucking around the Pacific. The absence of that stupid piece of camouflage fabric has never meant safety before.

Nate knows they're going to have to fight to get back to normalcy after this. But nothing in this relationship has come without effort; they have plenty of experience working for it.

He runs his fingers over the wood of the table and heads for the shower.

They'll be fine.


End file.
